


One Bullet

by Nagaina



Series: Cursebroken [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Being A Vampire Sucks Figuratively and Literally, CW: Horrifying Implications of Horribleness, CW: Vampires, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, I REGRET NOTHING, It's a Vampire Hunter McCree AU!, M/M, Oneshot for now, cw: blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagaina/pseuds/Nagaina
Summary: Written for the McHanzo Big Bang Halloween Monster Mash.Aka the one where Jesse McCree is a mercenary hexenjaeger for hire, Hanzo Shimada is a concerned big brother trying to rescue his idiot kid brother from the cult he ran off to join with his latest crush, and there are way more vampires than at least one of them expected.





	One Bullet

When Jesse regained consciousness, it was dark. Not the relatively normal and reasonably comforting darkness that came from the lights being off and the sun being down, before the rise of the moon or the street lights coming on. No, this was a different grade of dark entirely, rich and dense, so thick he could nearly taste it, could almost draw it into his lungs with each breath, could absolutely not pierce it even though he knew his eyes were open, no matter how long he gave them to adjust, even with the acuity of senses the blood running in his veins granted him. Which meant, pragmatically, that the coven had stashed him somewhere that no natural form of light penetrated -- someplace with no windows, potentially someplace deep underground. That made them smarter than the last two covens he’d extirpated put together, which was a pain in the ass he absolutely did not need right now. 

 

Predictably, his weapons were gone. That was pretty much the inevitable consequence of  _ being captured _ \-- in the back of his mind, he could hear the lecture Reyes would have unloaded, without mercy and with both barrels -- and he had never once escaped it, even when the vampires involved were as dumb as a box of hammers. Less predictably: they’d taken his boots and coat. Sometimes even the smart ones, the ones whose maker had a brain and let his spawn keep a fair share of theirs, would overlook those, so he was inclined to give at least a little credit for that. Not so smart: they’d left his arm. Of course, how to uncouple it wasn’t so obvious and if they had orders to keep him alive, just ripping it off at the shoulder, or the junction, would not accomplish that task.

 

His ribs ached, but not in a way that suggested any of them were broken, even when he took a deep breath. His head throbbed, but not in a way that suggested a concussion, particularly since the contents of his stomach weren’t also trying to escape. Gentle treatment by vampire standards, and for a demonstrably dangerous prisoner, at that. He wasn’t bound, just dropped and propped against the wall, which was rough, only dubiously dressed stone, dry. The floor under his legs and butt and hands felt uneven, grainy -- hard-packed dirt over stone, dry. The air likewise, dry and warm, which argued against  _ far _ underground. He carefully went about testing the soundness of the rest of his limbs, found a profusion of minor aches and tender spots where bruises were likely to be found later and worked himself to his feet, carefully, slowly stretching himself out to his full height. Thankfully, he didn’t encounter a low-hanging ceiling, which told him that he at least wasn’t in a repurposed mineshaft, for which he was moderately grateful. 

 

Moving slowly, keeping one hand to the wall, he started making a circuit, looking for an angle, the join of two walls, and found none. The room, cell, whatever it was, was circular, almost perfectly so. That offered a few suggestions all by itself. Before he could go about investigating them, a sound reached his ears: voices, footsteps, echoing off stone, growing gradually closer.

 

_ And me with nowhere to hide. _ The thought crawled through the back of his mind as he sank back down where he was, knowing it wasn’t the same spot, seeing no way to even pretend otherwise.  _ Not that I’d know if there were. _

 

The quality of sound from -- above? Yes, definitely from above -- changed, from steps on stone to steps on wood, thin trails of dust and dirt and grit filtering down to tickle his nose, and he just barely suppressed a sneeze. Something huge and godawful heavy being dragged across an unfinished wooden surface, close by overhead, the boards shifting and groaning under the weight. The sound of metal grinding against metal -- chains and locks he thought -- and a perfectly square portion of the ceiling lifted up and shifted sideways, admitting a wan shaft of light that made his eyes ache and water after the perfect and unrelieved darkness, the best pain he’d felt all day.

 

Then, just to ruin it all, a green-haired head poked through the aperture thus created, bloody crimson eyes gleaming in the half-light, and offered him an almost inhumanly wide grin containing far too many sharp teeth. “Oh, good! You’re awake.”

 

Genji Shimada, he was forced to admit, made a pretty good vampire. He was lean and wiry in a way that made his strength surprising even if his speed was to be expected, which gave him an edge in a close-quarters fight, enough of one to disarm and drop an experienced hexenjaeger. Inasmuch as the one who’d turned him had let him keep both his mind and his personality, he even seemed to be enjoying it, the curse taking what had always lain inside him -- immaturity, self-absorption, a vast capacity for thoughtless cruelty -- and turning the dial up to eleven on all his pre-existing flaws. He crawled across the ceiling -- the rough ceiling of stripped tree boles, fit solidly together through straps and cross-supports -- fingers and toes unnaturally long, each digit tipped in a wicked talon and as he hung there, someone handed him a lantern. A  _ solar powered _ lantern, which he supposed was what passed for irony among the undead, and he caught it as Genji lobbed it at his head.

 

“Good catch. Reflexes aren’t suffering too badly, I hope? You took quite a blow to the skull.” Genji stretched himself out, feet planted on the ceiling, talons bit deep, hanging cheekily up-side-down an arm’s length away, and Jesse easily resisted the obvious invitation to grievous bodily harm. “Awww. Not going to talk?”

 

“Not t’you. I don’t chat with lackeys.” Jesse set the lantern aside and thumbed it down to its lowest yield, to conserve the charge.

 

Genji’s eyes flashed and his expression contorted, inhuman with rage and affront, but he also resisted the temptation to do more, smoothing his blood-hungry beast face back away. “Fine. Fine. You’ll  _ scream _ for me soon enough.” A fangy grin that would have been charming if not for the hate in his eyes. “My master wants you to know that he admires you -- truly admires both you personally and the Order of the Hexenjagd. In the face of a changing world, you have stood fast, athwart the tides of history, to remain dedicated pains in the ass even unto your own destruction. He appreciates that sort of...righteousness. And so, he offers you this gift, as a token of his esteem.”

 

The light slanting down from above dimmed again as something obstructed its passage -- something long and limp, wrapped in a sheet stained with rusty brown spatters, one pale arm dangling out the side, streaked with the same. Whoever was holding it dropped it without ceremony and it fell, landed bonelessly and lay unmoving, as Genji scurried back across the ceiling and out the exit. His unnaturally long-fingered hand came back through, Peacekeeper dangling by the trigger guard on the tip of one talon, and he dropped that down, as well. Jesse waited until the section of ceiling had been set back in place, and whatever they were using to hold it down dragged over top, before he approached. Peacekeeper was undamaged when he checked it and cracked open the cylinder to find one round still loaded. Dread made a cold knot in his belly as he folded back the bloodstained sheet.

 

Hanzo Shimada lay deep in the grip of the change -- the curse coursing through veins drained almost dry, punctures lining both arms to the elbow, his throat and muscular thighs. Somebody had bitten his  _ tongue _ . And no ordinary curse at that: the hungry darkness battened on the guttering light of Hanzo’s life pulsed in his vision, cancerous with malice.

 

“Oh, darlin’.” Jesse whispered and gathered his cooling body close, wrapped the sheet around him for what little warmth it could help offer. “Oh, Hanzo. I’m so sorry.”

 

Hanzo stirred, shivered uncontrollably, a tiny sound of pain escaped his throat. His eyes, when they opened, were still golden, feverishly bright, tinged in crimson. When he spoke, his voice was a bare whisper, thin with exhaustion. “Jesse.”

 

“I’m here, darlin’. Save your strength.” He pressed a kiss to Hanzo’s brow, cool and damp with pain-sweat. “I’m callin’ for help.”

They hadn’t taken his arm, which was a mistake. He opened the access panels one-handed, Hanzo cradled in the crook of it, and assembled the transponder beacon, the pulse communication transmitter, started cycling them both to full power. It’d drain his arm’s internal power cells to the dregs, but the rest of the hunting pack would find them, and hopefully the vampire nest along with them.

 

“Genji.” Hanzo whispered. “It’s...too late for him, isn’t it?” A soft, ragged breath. “It’s too late for me.”

 

“For him, yes.” The transponder beacon reached charge and he triggered it. “He’s given himself to the curse, of his own free will. And don’t you dare blame yourself for that, because it ain’t your fault.”

 

“It  _ is _ . I drove him away. I practically threw him into their arms. If I had just --” Jesse bent and stilled his lips and self-castigation with a kiss, lent him a bit more warmth, tasted the blood on his tongue and the hunger starting to take root in him.

 

“You’re not responsible for your dumbass brother’s dumbass decisions.” Jesse whispered fiercely. “He’s a grown man and he’s made his choice.” The communications array sang its little rising-falling  _ ready _ tone, and he activated it. “McCree transmitting from unknown location, possibly a cliff-dwelling, definitely a sealed kiva under natural cover inside stone. I have a friendly down -- I need a cursebreaker here pronto, and as much firepower as you can scrounge together. Make it double-quick. End transmission.”

 

He clicked it off as quickly as he could to preserve the power cells for the beacon, propping his arm up as best he could on the same knee, holding Hanzo close against his chest. Hanzo was silent, either taking his advice or too weary to argue further, icy fingers wrapped in his shirt. Jesse counted every slowing breath, every stuttering, failing heartbeat, refused to watch the curse as it ate his lover’s life, fought for calm, poignantly aware of Peacekeeper at his side, one bullet in the cylinder.

 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Hanzo murmured after a few minutes, a few hours, a short and agonizing eternity. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

 

_ No, darlin’, you’re not dyin’. You’re already dead, your soul just doesn’t know it yet. _ But there was no comfort in that truth and so he kept it locked in his own heart. “No. Not if the cursebreaker gets here. There’s still time.”

 

Hanzo was silent for a moment. Then, “Liar.”

“Darlin’...” He had to stop, discipline his voice steady. “Hanzo. I --”

 

“I do not want to be one of those heartless, soulless things.” Hanzo’s nails, already sharper than they’d been before but not quite yet claws, dug into his chest. “Promise me you will not let that happen.”

 

“Hanzo --”

 

“ _ Promise me. _ ”

 

“I promise. I won’t let it come to that.” Peacekeeper’s grip, beneath his hand, was cold. “Just...hold on a little while longer. Can you do that for me?”

 

“I will try.” Hanzo rested his face against the curve of his neck and closed his eyes and Jesse pressed his cheek against the sleek length of his night-dark hair, the better to hide his tears.


End file.
